Who’s Afraid of the Dentists’ Daughter?
by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: Muggleborn Hermione Granger is sorted into Slytherin, but after a nasty prank goes wrong and gives her red eyes, her classmates become convinced that she’s the Dark Lord’s heir.
1. The Dark Lord's heir?

**Title**: Who's Afraid of the Dentists' Daughter?

**Author:** TardisIsTheOnlyWaytoTravel

**Setting: **Alternate Philosopher's Stone.

**Summary:** Muggleborn Hermione Granger is sorted into Slytherin, but after a nasty prank goes wrong and gives her red eyes, her classmates become convinced that she's the Dark Lord's heir.

**Author notes:**

_The idea for this originally came from Clell, and was aired on the _CaerAzkaban _yahoo group. I volunteered to write it. Thanks to everyone who made suggestions, and feel free to make more!_

_This should be a decent-length fic; chapter one, and we've only made it to Hermione's second day of school…_

_

* * *

_

**WHO'S AFRAID OF THE DENTIST'S DAUGHTER?**

**CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

Eleven year old Hermione Granger's emotions were a conflicted mess. She was torn between feeling excited, nervous, happy, and somewhat near tears. The first three were because she was just beginning at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the first in her family to do so; she'd prepared all she could, reading all the textbooks ahead of time and practicing the spells, and while it had all come awfully naturally to her, she couldn't help the nagging feeling that all the preparation in the world wouldn't help much when she was surrounded by children who had known they were magical all their lives, and had been raised in a magical environment.

The last emotion was thanks to a group of second years who had told her that she wasn't a real witch, and thrown sweets at her until she left their compartment. One of them had even called her a 'mudblood' whatever that was, although Hermione could make a good guess. To be sure, they were only bigots, and Hermione had managed to catch some of the sweets, including a butterscotch (sweets weren't too much harm in _moderation_, after all) but even so it was rather dispiriting to think that she might be facing a similar reception from her classmates for the next seven years.

She was now waiting for her name to be called, so that the Hat could sort her into the house in which she belonged.

"Granger, Hermione!" Professor McGonagall called. Hermione took a deep breath, and walked sedately to the stool, trying to look as composed as possible.

The Hat settled over her eyes.

'_Well, well, what do we have here?'_ a dry, slightly testy voice asked, one that reminded her vaguely of her great-uncle.

'_You're telepathic?' _Hermione inquired cautiously, feeling a bit uneasy at having something rifle through her head, no matter what the purpose for it was.

'_Hm, yes, although it has a slightly different name in this world. My, aren't you the interesting one. Plenty of intelligence; it blazes off you like a beacon, and a thirst for knowledge. Bravery there, too, although you haven't had much of an opportunity to exercise it so far. You're kind enough to others, although you can be a tad overzealous, not to mention you have a rather vindictive streak when roused. Oh, here we are. Ambition, bucket-loads of it. Ambition, and those rare traits, the intelligence and talent to achieve your ambitions. Hah, and it would do that inbred lot good to have someone like you stirring things up in there.'_

Hermione felt a frisson of alarm at the path the Hat's observations were taking.

'_But–'_

'_Without a doubt, my girl, you belong in –'_

"SLYTHERIN!" the Hat bellowed, a little smugly.

Hermione knew an impulse to yell at the Hat to take it back, this wasn't what was supposed to happen! Taking the Hat off she looked across to her new house; the rest of the school was clapping with reasonable enthusiasm, but Slytherin's applause was desultory at best, and even from this distance she could see the sneers on their faces. They'd eat her alive!

All the same, Hermione tilted her chin haughtily and approached the table with the same self-assured air as earlier. She wasn't about to let a bunch of inbred blood purists see her looking shaky or nervous.

She mightn't have wished for Slytherin, but she would make the best of things.

Hermione didn't know it, but her composure in the face of her housemates obvious hostility would, come tomorrow, help lay a foundation for a reputation that eclipsed that of every student to go through Slytherin house in the last fifty years.

And it would all be completely accidental.

Hermione found an empty seat near the head of the Slytherin table, not wanting to sit too close to all the students giving her disdainful looks or glares. She pretended to ignore them all as the other first years were all Sorted, and when food appeared began eating dinner without a glance at her fellow students, hoping desperately that they wouldn't start picking on her.

"Who does she think she is?" Pansy Parkinson hissed, watching Hermione who was unknowingly presenting a contemptuous attitude with her stiff posture and refusal to acknowledge her housemates.

"Granger isn't a wizarding name, is it?" Theodore Nott asked thoughtfully. "I can't think of any Grangers."

"Filthy mudblood," Draco Malfoy sneered dismissively.

Further down the table some of the older students were also discussing the bushy-haired first year.

"I don't know any Grangers," Alice Carrow said in perplexity, "but look at her, she doesn't _act_ like she's muggleborn."

"I haven't seen that kind of general scorn since my grandmother met my cousin's half-blood fiancé and his family," one of her friends agreed in awe. "It's almost up to Lucius Malfoy's level, look. You'd think none of us existed, to look at her."

"She has to have come from a high-status pureblood clan for sure," Davidus Avery agreed, "but who _is_ she?"

The seventh years all looked at each other and agreed to find out.

The first years, meanwhile, were still discussing the indignity of having a mudblood in their grade, and such an impudent one.

"We'll make her regret coming into _our_ house," Blaise Zabini agreed with a nasty smirk.

"We can start tonight," Tracy Davis agreed with a grin, "wait until she's asleep and then…"

Daphne Greengrass just rolled her eyes and tried to tune out the conversation. So a muggleborn had been Sorted into their house, honestly, you'd think someone had just insulted their bloodline or something. She felt a bit sorry for the other girl; it wasn't her fault Slytherin was the last bastion of rabid blood purists. Daphne herself didn't like muggleborns all that much, but _someone_ had to do all the jobs purebloods were too rich and important to do; if all the muggleborns were wiped out then who would sell them robes or shoes, or run all those nice little cafes and restaurants? It was all very well to say that the elves could do it all, but in practice that wouldn't work out at all, house elves were useless for that sort of thing. Daphne was quite happy to have muggleborns being productive members of society if it meant they were labouring away making her the latest season's cut in robes.

Hermione was feeling a bit less apprehensive as she finished her meal. So far everyone had left her alone. Perhaps things wouldn't be so bad, after all.

"First years!" a tall thin girl with pale hair called commandingly. "Follow me!"

Along with the other first years Hermione followed the prefect down into the dungeons and into the Slytherin common room.

The girl waited until all of the new students were inside the common room and then turned on them with a glare.

"My name is Veneficus Rookwood, and I am one of the two sixth year prefects for Slytherin," she announced. Up close, Hermione could see that her eyes were almost as colorless as her hair. It made her look somewhat frightening. "As such, it is my responsibility to look out for your health and wellbeing, to negotiate within-house disputes, and deal with you when you disgrace the house in one way or another. Anything I feel is outside my capability to deal with, or outside my responsibilities, will be taken either to your head of house, Professor Snape, or if the problem is severe enough the headmaster." Her pale-eyed glare swept over them. "I am not merciful, I am not biased. I will deliver justice as I see fit and I will not be swayed by _connections_ or personal ties, nor grudges. You have all been warned. That said, if you _do_ have an issue that you need help dealing with, you can trust me to assist you."

That said, she folded her arms and glared at a tall boy standing over near the edge of the room.

"Now, it's time for all of you to get to bed," the boy said smoothly. "Girl's dormitories are up and to the right, boys dormitories down and to the left. First years girls are on the first floor up, first year boys the first floor down. Shoo."

As the first years obediently scattered, not wanting to try their luck, Hermione heard a voice saying indignantly, "_They can't tell me to shoo! I'm a Malfoy!_" and someone else saying "_Draco, shut up_."

As Hermione prepared for bed, she hoped that things went well tomorrow.

"Is she asleep?" Pansy Parkinson hissed across at Tracy.

"I think so," Tracy replied in a loud whisper, crouching a bit to stare at the sleeping girl. Hermione's eyes were shut, and her breathing was slow and deep.

Giggling, the other girls in the dorm helped Pansy and Tracy sprinkle powdered asphodel among the girl's sheets, while Daphne sat and watched. The asphodel would cause intense itching, but only a pale rash would develop, so that it wouldn't be obvious to anyone that something was wrong.

Grinning to each other, the girls crept back to their beds and went to sleep, looking forward to seeing the uppity mudblood get her deserts.

* * *

Hermione drifted into wakefulness a while before she was supposed to get up, pulled there by insistent feelings of discomfort. Blinking into awareness, she realised two things: one, she itched like anything, and two, her eyes ached and stung horribly.

Feeling decidedly unwell, Hermione slipped out of the four-poster and padded into the bathrooms.

Now in the light, she examined her skin. There was a very pale, pink oatmeal rash across her skin, only just visible, which presumably explained the itching.

Rubbing at her eyes, Hermione turned to one of the mirrors above the sink.

And very nearly screamed.

Her irises, instead of being a light, caramel brown, had turned a deep bloody red. It gave her a distinctly demonic appearance. Hermione peered closer at her reflection, watching the crimson eyes blink back at her.

Frowning, Hermione scratched absently at her arm, wondering what had caused her condition. She was clearly reacting to something, but how...

She paused as she felt something slightly gritty beneath her fingers. Examining her fingertips, she saw that there was a coarse dark green powder trapped beneath her fingernails.

Hermione scowled in realisation at her rash. Someone had slipped some kind of itching powder in her bed while she was sleeping!

She scratched angrily, trying to restrain tears of disappointment and frustration. She'd hoped _so_ much that things would go well at her new school, and already they were picking on her. She had never fit in among other children, but when she found out that she was a witch had hoped that, perhaps, she had finally found somewhere she could belong.

With a dispirited sigh, Hermione decided that she should probably go to the hospital wing.

As Hermione was about to go back into the dorm she could hear suppressed giggles. It didn't help her temper. Steeling herself, she stepped back into the room.

"Feeling itchy, mudblood?"

Hermione looked up and sent the other girl the deadliest glare she could muster.

When the girls woke up, the muggleborn girl wasn't in their dormitory. Seeing that Pansy was still asleep, Tracy bounced onto her bed and shook her shoulder.

"Wha?" Pansy grumbled.

"The mudblood girl's gone," Tracy informed her, and looked around at her classmates. "Anyone know where?"

"Probably to the bathroom," Daphne said, bored. "That's what I'd do if I woke up itching."

The first years grinned at each other and waited.

After only a couple of minutes they heard footsteps in the bathroom, and giggled in anticipation.

"Feeling itchy, mudblood?" Pansy sneered as the other girl stepped into the room.

Blood red eyes looked up, and fixed her with a look that spelt _pain_.

Pansy recoiled in horror, while the others gasped or shrieked.

"_You_," said the red-eyed girl, in measured tones that nonetheless betrayed anger, "_are an immature, spoiled little girl_." She swept out of the dormitory.

Pansy felt like she was going to faint. Only one person had red eyes, and Pansy had heard stories of him from her parents.

"Did you see her eyes?" someone gasped.

"Just like the Dark Lord's!" Tracy affirmed fearfully. "No one else has eyes like that! Oh Merlin, no wonder she acted all stuck up! She must be his heir!"

"His heir?" Daphne repeated in disbelief. _The heck?_

"Of course!" Pansy gave a sickly nod, it all made horrible sense. "She must have been born before the Dark Lord's downfall, and placed somewhere Dumbledore and the Ministry couldn't find her, so that when she was old enough the Dark Lord could train her!"

"I know glamour spells fade if you get too emotional," Verity Lovelace offered nervously. "She must have had one on to cover her eyes, but it failed when she realised we'd put asphodel in her bed."

Pansy and Tracy stared at each other in renewed horror.

"_We put asphodel in her bed!_"

Daphne sat, torn between incredulity and laughter as her housemates rapidly spun a ridiculous story to explain the muggleborn girl's red eyes, believing every word they came up with, growing more and more fearful with every embellishment they made.

She shook her head, trying desperately not to giggle. One of her aunts was a healer, and Daphne had been with her when she'd been called off to treat an asphodel allergy. Asphodel allergies were pretty rare, and so most people had never heard of them or seen the usual reaction, but it included nausea and in severe cases, bright red eyes.

"_We're going to die!_" one of her dorm mates wailed.

Daphne hurriedly drew her curtains and buried her face in her pillow before she could spoil everything by laughing.

This was way too good to tell them the truth.

Hermione meanwhile had left by dungeons completely, and approached the first portrait she saw.

"Excuse me –"

"Merlin's beard!" yelled the portrait, recoiling.

"Engelbert!" A woman from another portrait stepped in the frame, dressed in early Victorian garb. "Watch your language! This is a school!" She turned to look at Hermione, and her eyes widened.

"Oh my!" She was shocked, but only for a moment, "I assume you're looking for the hospital wing, my dear?"

"Yes, please," Hermione confirmed.

The portrait rattled off a long string of directions, and had Hermione repeat them back to her. Hermione thanked her and went on her way.

After three staircases, eighteen corridors and two doors, Hermione was feeling extremely ill, and was ready to faint as she stepped into the hospital wing.

"Hello?" she called wearily.

A sturdy middle-aged woman appeared in a doorway, and gave a small gasp as she saw Hermione's eyes.

"Goodness me, child. Come now, lie down," she bustled Hermione into a bed with practiced efficiency, "that's a nasty reaction you have there. You're muggleborn, I assume?" she added, taking a closer, swift look at the just-visible rash across Hermione's arm.

Hermione summoned up a tiny spark of fire.

"What does that have to do with anything?" she managed to snap.

"Asphodel allergy," the matron said briskly, lighting up the end of her wand and shining it in Hermione's eyes for a close examination. "Most definitely. Quite rare, but asphodel's a common enough ingredient in potions that most wizard-born children display a reaction at a fairly young age. Stay here."

She returned from her office a moment later with a large vial.

"Drink this," she commanded Hermione. As the girl did so, she explained, "the potion is designed to desensitise you to asphodel so that you will no longer react to it. You should be fine to work with it in class and able to take most potions, although I'd still avoid anything with a particularly high concentration of the stuff, particularly fresh. I'll make a note of it in your file. Your name?"

"Hermione Granger," Hermione said sleepily.

"Very well,. You just go to sleep, Miss Granger, and let the potion do its work while I inform your Head of House that you'll be missing some classes today. Which house are you in?"

"Slytherin." The agonising pain in her eyes was beginning to ease, and Hermione felt marginally less ill. "Thank you, ma'am."

The briskness melted into something softer.

"That's alright, child. I'll have a word with Professor Snape about your housemates, too; after all these years at Hogwarts I can tell when someone's been made the target of a nasty prank."

Hermione drifted off, grateful that the healer was so kind and hoping that she could convince the intimidating professor to make the other Slytherins leave her alone.

**

* * *

**

"Severus," Poppy caught the dour man on his way down to breakfast, "I need to have a word with you."

Severus Snape sighed in irritation.

"Don't tell me. The muggleborn girl's turned up in the hospital wing already."

Poppy nodded grimly, and the man's lip curled. He might not be overly fond of the muggleborn students himself, but he did ensure that nothing worse than verbal confrontations went on in his house.

"I see. I'll make sure they understand this behaviour isn't tolerated."

He swept off, robes billowing, to terrify the new first years into obedience.

Poppy sighed. She didn't exactly agree with his methods, but then some of his students were such nasty little bigots that nothing else worked. She had been at the school five years before Severus was made Slytherin's head of house, and in those five years there wasn't a muggleborn Slytherin who wasn't seriously injured several times; since Severus had taken over, it had happened only once.

Whatever else he did, he got results.

The Slytherin first years assembled hastily in the common room, wondering what was happening. The austere female fifth year prefect from the previous night was present, and Professor Snape was standing there with an exceedingly nasty glint in his eyes.

"Good morning," he drawled, very softly, his voice cutting through the noise like a sharp blade through silk. The children went quiet.

Most of them knew that Severus Snape had been a Death Eater once; it was the kind of fact that stopped people from dealing with him too lightly. And right now, with that expression on his face, he _looked_ like a Death Eater.

His gaze swept over them, leaving them feeling exposed and apprehensive.

"The House of Slytherin," Snape continued, "is the house for those of ambition, of cunning, and of brilliance. It is the house for those who cannot fit in to any other house, because their drive to succeed marks them out for greatness; because to fail at their goals is inconceivable. It is a house of raw talent and shrewdness and subterfuge, and there is not a member of this house who does not have the potential to achieve distinction."

Cold coal-black eyes void of emotion swept over them. He'd given this speech so many times now over the years, in one form or another, that he knew exactly when to pause menacingly or lay particular emphasis on a word. Every damn year, he had to give them a speech telling them to leave the muggleborns and halfbloods alone. Sometimes Severus almost wished he could just nail of the little bastards to the wall, or something equally unpleasant, and leave the blood and the nails there as a reminder to future students. That sort of punishment would quickly become lengendary, and maybe, just _maybe_ he wouldn't have to give the blasted speech so bloody often.

"In Slytherin it is vital to tread carefully in your dealings with others, because you never know whether or not you are dealing with a future Minister for Magic – or the next Dark Lord."

The first-year girls quailed as they realised what the point of the former Death Eater's speech must be. He had to know about the Dark Lord's heir, and somehow had found out about how the lot of them had treated her!

"So why is it," their head of house asked, very, gently, "that I was informed that this morning one of you was admitted to the hospital wing, the apparent victim of her housemates?"

Pansy and Tracy exchanged aghast, shamed looks.

"We didn't know, sir," Verity spoke up fearfully, "we really didn't know, I swear. I promise we'll leave Granger alone from now on, really!"

Severus looked at her suspiciously. The boys were showing the usual reactions – some cowed expressions, 'why can't I pick on the mudbloods?' type indignation and confusion, the odd glimmer of understanding, resentment, obedience – but the girls all had expressions of fear, earnest agreement, remorse, and on Davis and Parkinson, a peculiar kind of terror.

Something was clearly going on there, but now wasn't the time to investigate.

"It had best not happen again," he warned, allowing an edge of threat to creep into his voice. "I will be… _displeased_ if it continues to be an issue."

One more cold, contemptuous glance, and with a short "you all had best hurry to breakfast," he swept from the room in his most intimidating manner.

As soon as he left, Veneficus unfolded her arms and stepped forward.

"You lot," she said harshly. "I don't want to see one _iota_ of action taken against this girl again, or I'll deal with you. As it is, the lot of you are in disgrace. Understand?"

One of the first years burst into tears.

"We didn't _know_ she was the Dark Lord's daughter!" she wailed. "We only found out this morning when she got so angry that her eyes turned red! I'm _sorry!_"

Every pair of eyes in the common room stared at her.

Veneficus turned to stare at all the other first year girls, who weren't much better off than the crying one. She didn't see Daphne Greengrass, who had slipped down to sit behind the couch and was struggling to hold in her laughter.

"The Dark Lord's daughter?" she repeated. "You're _sure?_"

Pansy Parkinson nodded miserably.

"You didn't see her. I thought she was going to _crucio_ the lot of us."

Veneficus stood still for a moment, then turned to the other first years.

"Treat her with respect and circumspection," she commanded. "The rest of the house needs to know of this."

And she followed Professor Snape's path out of the Slytherin common area to spread the news.

Daphne had to clap both hands over her mouth to stop the uncontrollable laughter that wanted out.

_Merlin, was she going to have fun with this._

_

* * *

_

Hermione joined classes that afternoon. Her allergic reaction was more or less entirely gone, although she felt more tired than usual. She made her way down to the dungeons, where Potions would have just started.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself and entered.

Heads swivelled in her direction, and Hermione scowled at them, uncomfortable with the stares.

"Miss Granger, take a seat," said her head of house, a thread of impatience in his tone. He was an unpleasant-looking man, up close – not simply in physical characteristics, but more in his expression, and air of faintly menacing contempt – with a hooked nose, greasy hair, and black eyes that glinted worryingly.

Hermione looked around for an empty seat. There was one next to Pansy, who wore a bright, fixed smile that was clearly fake; a quiet dark-haired girl was looking at Hermione hopefully, and there was an empty seat next to her as well.

Hermione however was not about to walk willingly into another prank, so instead she sat on the other side of the room, next to a small, black-haired Gryffindor boy – Harry Potter.

Harry looked at Hermione curiously while the redheaded boy on the other side of him glared at her.

Hermione ignored the glare and stared at their cauldron.

"What are we brewing?"

"What do you mean, _we?_" the other boy snapped. Ron Weasley, Hermione remembered.

Her nose went in the air.

"Well, I've joined _your_ group, so logic therefore suggests that I'll be helping with _your_ potion."

Her tone suggested that this was incredibly obvious. Weasley reddened.

Harry was staring at Ron in confused puzzlement, as though he couldn't understand what had gotten into the other boy.

"So, Harry Potter," Hermione decided to just ignore Weasley, "what potion are we brewing, and do we have instructions?"

Harry nodded his head at the front of the room.

"Everything's on the board."

Hermione read what was on the board, and frowned. It was… one of the potions from the book, yes, the more advanced section, but there were small things missing, like stirring after every third newt eye…

Hermione glanced at the professor in sudden suspicion. The man was prowling around the room, like a large predatory cat, checking the progress of their potions. He _had_ to be testing them, to see who had read and been paying attention to the textbook.

Hermione frowned some more, and turned to her two partners in sudden decision.

"Right," she said briskly, "Harry, you chop the valerian root, Weasley, you peel the newts eyes; I'm going to get the base fluid started."

"Who put you in charge?" Weasley snapped, as Harry obediently pulled some valerian root towards him.

"_Do_ you wish to pass this, or not?" Hermione snapped back. She didn't know what his problem was, but he was being _stupid_. "Judging by the progress you've made so far, the two of you _clearly_ have _no_ idea what you're doing. So shut up and listen to what I tell you to do."

Harry nudged the other boy. Scowling like a thundercloud, Weasley reluctantly began peeling newts eyes, making disgusted faces, while Hermione got started on the potion base.

She continued to instruct them for the rest of the lesson. The rest of the first year Slytherins and Gryffindors sent her glances every now and then, and Hermione once looked up to see Professor Snape regarding her with almost a curious expression.

Near the end of the lesson, a Gryffindor boy's cauldron melted, and everyone had to climb up on the benches and desks out of the potions' way.

Hermione efficiently sat perched on the very edge of the desk and continued to stir until the potions was the correct colour.

After berating the hapless Gryffindor boy nearly to tears, Professor Snape dismissed them all.

As Hermione was collecting her things, the teacher strolled over and peered slightly into her cauldron.

"Excellent work, Miss Granger. Twenty points to Slytherin."

Hermione couldn't help the flustered, hopeful beam she sent his way.

* * *

**END CHAPTER**


	2. Settling in

**Title**: Who's Afraid of the Dentists' Daughter?

**Author:** TardisIsTheOnlyWaytoTravel

**Setting: **Alternate Philosopher's Stone.

**Summary:** Muggleborn Hermione Granger is sorted into Slytherin, but after a nasty prank goes wrong and gives her red eyes, her classmates become convinced that she's the Dark Lord's heir.

**Author notes:**

_Please note that this is an AU story. In this fic, Daphne Greengrass, and almost all the Slytherin girls, are purebloods. If people can keep writing fem!Blaise, I don't see why I can't write a Tracy Davis and Daphne Greengrass who are entirely pureblood._

_Thank you for all your reviews, and suggestions! _

_Also, I know it's been, like, about a year. I suck, I know._

_Not as funny, this chapter, but sets up some things for the next few._

_

* * *

_

**WHO'S AFRAID OF THE DENTIST'S DAUGHTER?**

**CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

The moment that potions class was over, Ron Weasley exploded.

"The nerve of her!" he seethed. "Ordering us about! Slimy Slytherin!"

Harry looked at him quizzically. He was still getting used to all of the wizarding world's little foibles, and wasn't sure if this was a wizarding thing, or a Ron thing.

"Well, she was right," he pointed out, "we didn't have a clue what we were doing. And so what if she's Slytherin?"

"Slytherins are evil!" Ron yelled.

Harry frowned at him. Hagrid had said something similar, but he'd been thinking about it since he got to Hogwarts, and it didn't make sense. Why would they have a house for evil people? Why not just expel them? Harry had watched the Slytherins, and no, they didn't seem that nice, but they weren't too bad, either. (Except for Draco, who was a class-A git, although not _actually_ evil.) Besides, could you even tell whether people were going to be evil, that young?

"Why are they evil?"

"Because they are! Everyone knows that! Gryffindors are good, and Slytherins are evil! That's how it works!"

Harry gave him a blank uncomprehending stare, and wondered if maybe he'd been Sorted into the wrong house, after all.

* * *

Hermione was on her way down to the common room when she was waylaid by a bouncy dark haired girl.

"Hello!" the girl greeted Hermione brightly. It was the one who had been smiling hopefully at her earlier. "I'm Daphne Greengrass."

"Hello," Hermione returned warily.

Daphne grinned.

"I know."

"Aren't you purebloods supposed to avoid muggleborns, or something?" Hermione asked.

Daphne nodded cheerfully.

"In theory, sure. But honestly, it's a bit silly, isn't it? Besides, without muggleborns our entire society would collapse. You don't suppose the average pureblood knows how to cook or make a shoe, do you? I refuse to alienate the people who will one day make my clothes."

Hermione gave Daphne an outraged stare.

"Listen, Professor Snape told us all off, so I doubt our dorm mates are likely to do anything like that to you again, but all the same, I'd keep it quiet that you have an asphodel allergy, just so that they can't use it against you," Daphne finished, apparently oblivious to Hermione's reaction to her bigoted statements.

"How did you know I had an asphodel allergy?" Hermione demanded.

"My aunt's a healer," Daphne explained matter-of-factly. "Look, I know you're suspicious, and that's a good thing, in Slytherin, but I honestly just want a friend who isn't one of Pansy's group. They're not exactly a moderate and tolerant lot. You're not likely to buy into it, and seem pretty smart. So friends, maybe?"

Daphne deliberately didn't mention the fact that she also wanted to be Hermione's friend because it looked like it would be entertaining as anything.

Hermione looked at the other girl searchingly, but finally nodded. It would be nice to have a friend, even if she was some kind of pureblood snob.

"That sounds… reasonable," Hermione replied, a little hesitantly. She wasn't used to making friends with people, although she'd tried before, and wasn't quite sure how to do so. She hoped she didn't mess it up. "I'm Hermione Granger."

Daphne beamed, and linked arms with her, startling Hermione a little. She wasn't used to friendly contact, either. They started walking.

"So how do you like Hogwarts so far?" Daphne asked companionably.

"Er…"

"I mean our dorm mates are all cows, obviously," Daphne continued on merrily, "and there was the whole asphodel thing, but apart from that."

"Er… I thought Professor Snape was nice?" Hermione offered.

Daphne stopped dead, jerking Hermione to a stop as well, and stared as though Hermione had just dropped in from another planet.

"Professor Snape… _nice?_" she managed faintly.

"Oh yes," Hermione said with a bit more confidence, "I mean, he talked to everyone about leaving me alone, didn't he, and he didn't seem too annoyed that I only came to class halfway through, even if I _had_ been in the hospital wing all day, and he said I did excellent work and gave me twenty points!" She smiled happily. "I know he doesn't look particularly, well, _kind_, I suppose, but I'm sure he's far more pleasant than seems."

Daphne was again overcome by the mad urge to giggle hysterically.

"Right," she managed. "You should tell the other girls that, I'm sure they'd feel less nervous."

Or at least be even more convinced that Hermione was a budding Dark Lord, anyway – who else would _like_ Professor _Snape?_

Oh yes, befriending Hermione had been a very good plan, she could see years of amusement stretching in front of her and with luck it would boost her status within the house.

"Do you think so?" Hermione asked a little doubtfully. "I don't mean to be rude, but they all seemed like rather unpleasant, spoiled little girls to me."

"I'm sure you'll get on better now," Daphne assured her, wanting to see everyone's faces when Hermione said she liked Professor Snape, "come on, let's go to the common room and I can introduce you to everyone properly."

Reluctantly Hermione allowed herself to be led off to the Slytherin common room. She wasn't sure about making friends with those horrible girls, but on the other hand, she'd much rather get along with them than not. Besides, she thought hopefully, maybe now that Professor Snape had sorted things out everything would be better.

As she and Daphne walked in there was a sudden hush, as almost everyone in the room turned to stare at them, followed almost instantly by a sudden buzz of murmurs.

Hermione scowled around ferociously. The story of her trip to the hospital wing must have spread around already, she thought. How typical.

People looked hastily away as they met her scowl. Glowering, Hermione followed Daphne to where the other first year girls were sitting frozen.

"Hello!" Daphne greeted them brightly. "I thought I'd introduce everyone to Hermione personally."

A sea of stricken eyes stared at the glowering Hermione.

"Er, hello?" Verity Lovelace tried, with a strained grin. "I'm um, Verity."

"Hermione Granger," Hermione said shortly. Her eyes moved to Pansy, who was sitting next to her.

Pansy gave a glassy smile.

"I'm… Pansy," her voice broke a little, "listen, I'm really sorry… really sorry… I – I mean, _we_ won't do that again, I promise – um, it was mean. Uh?"

Hermione just frowned in slight confusion at the disjointed speech. Pansy's glassy smile wavered in fear.

"Would you... would you like a chocolate frog?" Tracy blurted, proffering the packet with a shaking hand.

Hermione scrutinised her face for any sign of malice, but only saw anxiety, so she picked on out.

"Thank you," she told Tracy primly, and engaged herself in opening the box.

Her frog tried to escape, but Hermione contained the chocolate and ate it, looking around at the other girls thoughtfully. Why were they trying so hard to be nice to her?

The only thing she could think of, since it didn't seem to be some kind of nasty prank judging by how nervous they appeared to be, was the fact that Professor Snape had talked to them about their behaviour. Her mood warmed at the thought. Really, he was a rather sinister-looking man but clearly he was nicer than he looked. Perhaps he was one of those people possessed of a crotchety exterior, but inside was secretly a kind person? Hermione filed the thought away for later.

"So... what do you think of classes so far?" she tried, since all the girls were still looking at her. Maybe she could gain some insights into the magic-born point of view from what they said.

* * *

Daphne sat down between Hermione and Pansy and listened happily to the conversation that followed.

The other first year girls, Pansy and Tracy in particular, were nearly crying with relief that Hermione had apparently forgiven them for this morning's prank, and prattling on all about how it was nice to be here at Hogwarts and nice to be formally learning magic finally and how much they missed all the niceties of home, and wasn't it _unfair_ that they had to all share a dormitory until fifth year instead of getting a room to themselves like at home? Daphne rolled her eyes and watched Hermione, who was listening to all of this with a faintly perplexed frown.

"I think I like Flitwick best," Dulcinea Wilkes said thoughtfully, after Tracy had declared undying hatred for McGonagall, on the grounds that the professor was 'too disapproving and uptight.' "He's so funny and excited. And his voice squeaks."

"Well, I've had only Professor Snape so far, but he seems marvellous," Hermione offered.

Silence descended on the group.

Daphne tried to hide her desperately twitching lips as the others stared blankly.

"Snape... nice... _Snape_?" Pansy choked out, her brain clearly going into some kind of disjointed loop as it tried to process such an incredible idea.

"Oh, yes," Hermione enthused. "He's been so helpful, and he liked my potion, did you hear? I know he's rather ominous, but I suppose it _is_ impressive. I do like the way his robes billow. Do you suppose it's simply the way they're cut, or does he use a spell?"

Dead silence. All eyes were on Hermione. She looked around suspiciously.

"What is it?"

Daphne was forced to break into a coughing fit at this point.

* * *

Severus Snape, meanwhile, was in his office with a comforting bottle of whiskey to cushion his despair at beginning yet another year of teaching hopeless dunderheads when there was a knock on the door, and the Rookwood girl entered the room.

Severus scowled at her thoughtfully. She was a rather strange girl, seemingly cold and with little expression in her face or gestures, but she was one of the few children at the school he actually _liked_. The fact that she'd always been responsible, intelligent, and scrupulously impartial on most topics was probably the reason, although he couldn't say that he actually knew her very well, or understood her.

He idly wondered if she had some kind of non-human blood in her veins, with her mannerisms and colouring, but decided he didn't care.

"Rookwood," he greeted her shortly.

"Sir," Veneficus returned. "There is an issue I thought should be brought to your attention. The rest of the house has already been made aware of it, and will treat the information with the utmost caution and discretion. The first-year muggleborn girl, Granger, appears to be the offspring of the Dark Lord."

Snape shot upright in his chair, suddenly very alert, and much more sober than he wanted to be after being given that sort of information.

"Any evidence?" he asked sharply.

The prefect hesitated, then gave a minute shrug.

"Circumstantial."

"You did well to bring this to my attention," Severus said darkly.

A brief glow of – some kind of satisfaction in performing her duty? she really was an _odd_ child, he thought – flitted across Veneficus' face, and with a small nod she left the room.

Severus leant back in his chair and considered the problem.

If the brat _was_ the child of the Dark Lord, than that should be reasonably easy to prove, barring outside interference. A far harder problem would be scotching the rumour now it had apparently taken root, whether it was true or not. Although, if the information _did_ turn out to be true, he'd have far greater problems to deal with than mere rumours.

Snape frowned, and decided not to bother Albus about the issue just yet. No point in bringing it to the headmaster's attention when there was as yet no real proof, one way or the other. The easiest way to find out would be to obtain a sample of the girl's blood and perform a paternity or heritage potion; he could gather the details of what had happened to her from Poppy tomorrow, and call in the girl for the sample on the pretext of making sure there were no lasting side effects, or some such thing. Yes, that would work nicely.

He wouldn't have time to do it for a few days, with all the beginning-of-term paperwork, but such a small time delay shouldn't have any effect on the current situation.

With a sigh, Severus sent a wistful look at his whiskey, and decided that a bit more tonight couldn't hurt.

* * *

That evening, just before curfew, Daphne sent out a letter to her cousin.

He had an entrepreneurial spirit, mixed with Slytherin shrewdness, and had established a reasonable income over the previous summer through a not-entirely principled use of his brand-new Potions N.E.W.T.

_Hey Argonaut, _the letter read,

_I really need a heritage blocking potion, as soon as possible, and you're apprenticed in potions. I know that those aren't exactly legal, so I'm including five galleons, and a reminder that I know exactly what you used your skills for last summer. Love, Daphne._

Unfortunately for Professor Snape, his delay in testing Hermione's parentage was going to be more significant than he had thought.

* * *

The next morning Hermione woke up before anyone else in the dormitory, when the lights – charmed to slowly grow brighter from six o'clock onwards – were still dull, wispy lights that didn't so much dispel the darkness in the room as introduce different shades of black.

Hermione was not precisely a morning person; she tended to wake appallingly early, but instead of being bright and cheerful about it, as a lot of people were, waking up early tended to put her in a bad mood that only wore off as the morning went on.

With a mental sigh, Hermione gathered her clothing and things and went into the bathrooms.

By the time she returned to her dormitory all of the other girls were up and beginning to get ready.

Except for Daphne.

When Hermione pulled back the curtains, Daphne was sprawled across her bed, limbs splayed in awkward positions, her mouth wide open.

"Daphne!" Hermione called. "You need to get up."

There was no response.

"Daphne!" Hermione put out a hand to shake her shoulder. Daphne gave a deep groan, and with all the slow, labouring movement of a beached whale, rolled over so that her face was buried in the blankets.

Hermione scowled, beginning to feel irritated.

"Daphne Greengrass!" she snapped, prodding at the other girl firmly. "You need to get up right now!" Hermione gave her a little push.

Daphne groaned again, and muttered something like "_Rillydarkordsdaugher_."

Hermione's eyes narrowed.

The next moment Daphne shrieked as she was yanked off the bed by the ankle, the pile of blankets she was clutching cushioning her fall before she was pulled off them.

The other girls stared as Hermione dragged Daphne across the floor into the bathrooms, both hands wrapped around Daphne's ankle. A moment later there was a horrified screech of "_No! Not the cold water!_" almost immediately followed by the loud shriek of someone having a cold shower turned on them full blast.

"Definitely the Dark Lord's daughter," Pansy said with awe. Who else could be so evil?

Hermione stormed out of the bathrooms a moment later, radiating a kind of cold, annoyed satisfaction. The other girls watched wide-eyed as she gathered her books.

"I need tea," Hermione muttered, and left the dormitory, while Daphne's shouted insults and curses drifted back from the bathrooms.

* * *

Daphne scowled as she dried her hair with Tracey's towel. Bloody Granger. Who knew she had it in her? Maybe she really was Dark Lord spawn.

Grumbling to her herself, Daphne left the bathrooms, her frown lightening a little as an irate shout of "_who used my towel?_" echoed from behind her.

At least she was spreading the anti-love this morning, anyway. That was some consolation.

When she got to the Great Hall, Daphne sat next to Hermione and glared unblinkingly.

Hermione pretended that she didn't notice at first, before her nose went up slightly and she finally acknowledged the other girl.

"It was for your own good," Hermione announced righteously.

Daphne gaped, speechless with indignation. It was _what?_

"Otherwise you would have slept in and missed breakfast, perhaps even classes. Besides," Hermione added, a bit defensively, "I don't have a very even temper in the morning, and you were trying my patience."

Daphne fumed, and didn't speak to her again for the rest of breakfast.

* * *

Their first class that morning was Herbology, with the Ravenclaws.

Hermion didn't really like this whole business of digging and potting things; she wasn't an outdoors sort of person, much preferring to stay inside with a good book. But this was, after all, a class, and therefore important, and so Hermione busily herself with helping her partner re-pot their plant.

Her partner's name was Justin Finch-Fletchley, and he, like her, was muggleborn.

"I was down for Eton," the fair-haired boy explained, with a touch of superiority, "but when I got my letter I decided to come to Hogwarts instead. My mother was frightfully upset at first, but I managed to convince her."

Hermione bristled a little bit, her competitive streak roused by the pride in his voice.

"I'd won a scholarship to St George's, in Ascot," she explained airily. "Winston Churchill went there, you know, before it became a girl's school."

Justin just gave her an odd, sideways look of confusion.

"That's nice," he said hesitantly.

There was silence for a while, while Hermione berated herself inwardly for letting her competitiveness get the better of her.

She cast her mind around for something to say.

"Are you enjoying Hogwarts?" she tried.

"Oh yes," Justin agreed. "It's all rather fascinating, isn't it? Very E. Nesbit."

Hermione stared disbelievingly, as her brain first processed this statement, and then began speculating on exactly what kind of mind one had to have in order to select such a comparison.

"I see." Clearly his mind was _not_ that of an ordinary person.

Hermione found herself oddly curious as to what other thought processes Justin might end up exposing through conversation, and carefully talked to him through the rest of the lesson, but Justin didn't say anything else she regarded as strange, to her disappointment.

* * *

It was during lunch that Hermione notice the way that the other Slytherins seemed to be staring at her.

When she thought about it, she realised that they had in fact been doing this all day; their behaviour was simply far more obvious once they had all gathered _en masse_.

She glared ferociously, and everyone instantly looked away… only to look back as soon as her gaze lowered to her food.

_Honestly,_ Hermione thought in exasperation. This was ridiculous. Students from the other houses were beginning to glance at her as well, now, curious about the focus of the Slytherins stares. She didn't know why they were staring, but she wasn't going to stand for it.

"_Really_," she said aloud, in her most scathing tones, "could you be any more _obvious?_ You're staring at me like a group of gormless idiots. Everyone else is beginning to stare as well, you know."

To her surprise a kind of restrained panic seemed to overtake everyone; their gazes skittered away like frightened rabbits.

For the rest of lunch, no one but Daphne made any kind of eye contact at all.

By the time Hermione was on her way to her next class, she had come to the conclusion that in general, wizards and witches were rather peculiar.

* * *

Millicent Bulstrode was not really enjoying her time at Hogwarts so far.

She was a tall, solidly-built girl, not very pretty but not unattractive either; not particularly bright, but certainly not stupid. She wasn't really remarkable in any way. Average, that was Millie.

It wasn't a problem at home, but Hogwarts was different. Everything was crowded and strange, and people weren't straightforward and down-to-earth like she was used to.

Everyone seemed to be more complicated, operating by some kind of unspoken set of rules that Millie hadn't grasped yet, and all the other girls her age were shorter and more delicate, so that Millie felt like a great hulking lump, acutely conscious of the way she towered over them and the way her robes made her look like she was built like a troll.

Classes weren't much better. Academia wasn't Millie's strong point; she was much better at doing something physical, like Quidditch. All this fiddly stuff was difficult, and Millie didn't understand why all the theory was so important. Couldn't they just skip to the bit where you waved your wand around and did things? Why did the angle you waved it at or they way you said the words matter?

Still, Millie wouldn't mind so much if she could at least make some friends, but none of the other girls liked her. Tracy and Pansy had looked her up and down and giggled when they first saw her, and kept making remarks about clumsy people and mountains and cows, while all the other girls laughed along with them.

The only one who hadn't was the muggleborn girl, Granger, who had looked pretty haughty and unfriendly even before they found out she was the Dark Lord's daughter. Millie hadn't said anything when the others had put asphodel in her bed, but she'd lain awake, feeling kind of bad about it; it wasn't a nice thing to do, but she didn't want to classmates to dislike her any more than they did already. And then the next morning the Granger girl had come out all red-eyed and furious, and they'd found out she was the Dark Lord's daughter.

Everyone was afraid that she was going to get some kind of horrible revenge, Millie knew. But she didn't really care.

"You're blocking the hallway, Bulstrode!" a shrill voice said loudly, and Pansy and Tracy sailed past, smirking, while the others girl followed.

…Millie didn't think that Granger could really make things much worse than they were already.

She wished she could just go _home_.


End file.
